Seductive Struggle
by Cupcakes or Razorblades
Summary: There was nowhere to place this story, so I placed it here. If you love Edward and Bella, become entangled within the web of this desolate land.. R & R
1. Boy With Broken Fate

A Boy With Broken Fate

Introduction - Seductive Struggle

Writen by: Jessica Ritz & Jasmine Robinson ¢2007-2008

* * *

The boy with no-name brushed the dust from his jeans, and sat himself down on the edge of the gravel road. 

A white veil covered the air, the chalky powder have been up brought into the distance by the wheels of a

wooden wagon. Among the tall prairie grasses, blue cloudless sky, and open land for miles was the boy.

No horse in sight to carry him away, No cattle for him to care for, No, just him. He was just a boy given a bad

hand, dirty dice, and no luck for change. Sun rays danced in his messy copper hair, mud covered his rough battered

hands, dirt clung under his short fingernails, but, he was happy. A crooked smile eased to his lips, like it belonged there,

he couldn't tell if this was a dream of reality, he never could comprehend sadness, stress, lust, greed, envy, gluttony,

pride, sloth…, and True happiness. For, that was the way he was, the way he would always be. Most people pitied him,

others shunned him. Those who shunned him were those who feared him, or where ashamed by him, for, he was different.

He could not speak, he had no control over sounds he created, or how he moved his body, for he was what ignorant people

call…, Retarded. Kinder people used a gentler word…, 'Mentally Challenged'. Though even those who did not alienate him

would never understand what it was like to be innocent. He may be unintelligible, but he would keep something everyone in turn

would loose. Everyone looses their dreams, their hopes, and their childish happiness. Everyone grows up. But, the boy's mind is

frozen so he will never grow up, and he will always be free.


	2. Past Poltergist

Past Poltergist

Chapter 1 - Seductive Struggle

Writen by: Jessica Ritz & Jamine Robison ¢2007-2008

* * *

A stale smell bounced through the white painted room, the properly made bed, and wispy curtains. 

The room was square, and pointed. Light poured in through the ajar curtains, dust dancing in frenzy

through the beams. The room lay coated in a thin layer of dust; a broken plate lay in shambles on the light

oak floor. If you looked close enough, I thought, you could almost see the faces of the faded being on the pieces

of the plate. It has been a long time, I could tell from the wilted sunflowers in the vase on the vanity. I could tell from

the footsteps engraved in the dust to where I stood. This was her room. The girl my shattered heart belonged to for so long.

In my eyes, not long enough. I can still picture her face in my head, dark haunting eyes that bore into your soul, pried open

your darkest secrets and brought them to play. They were large, and slightly round in shape. I remember how she would hide

behind her thick eye-lashes, taunting me with some unseen gesture of mystery. I could the whispers she shared with me, never lying,

but never revealing the whole truth. She was shrouded in her wavy raven hair, pail ghostly skin, and delicate body. Heck,

I could even recall the last words her enchanting voice recited… But that won't bring her back. I learned that long ago,

but now, stepping into her chamber I could smell her lingering sent. The smell of poppies and cornflowers. I find it ironic actually,

most woman smell like fancy perfume that smells bad and soaks up the fresh air, but she always smelled of poppies and cornflowers.

Old diluted photographs lay tucked into a neat pile, contemplating to myself whether to pick them up and take a trop down

memory lane, or to ask myself for the millionth time… Why? Why, out of every woman she was selected, her drink the one to

be lines with poison. Most of all, why the pills that lay behind her bathroom mirror. It was no use, I'd been asking myself for

five years, and I still wasn't going to get an answer. For a moment I tried to recall why I was even here, why I hadn't fallen to my

knees hopelessly. I didn't care. The thought hit me like when you forget your bait when you're fishing, I didn't care. I didn't care

for her anymore; I cared so much I couldn't core any. Bringing myself to pick up the photograph, I stare upon her face. The

photograph was frozen, she as there smiling at me, trapped in a different time. She was a stranger and a friend at the same time.

Her soul captured inside, never to change, always to sit there smiling. Never to spare a tear for her own fate. She just sat there in

black & white, a maroon stain of dried blood on the bottom. Her blood.

I dropped the photograph as if an electric charge went thorough my body. I fell back a couple steps, my heart racing. She was here.

She lived inside the photograph, and on my memory. The medium in the mirror didn't fade; she smiled at me seductively,

advancing towards my backside. I kept quiet, maybe she would disappear… Maybe she would finally go rest and leave me alone.

I didn't even believe myself. She wouldn't leave, and she never would.

Though, this was not her. She may bare the same features of her, but she was not. Her face was too pail, her eyes lost their lustre.

She looked like a corpse, for her movement was tired and strained. Still, behind the calm expression I held upon my face, was a

beating heart, and loss for words. She was right behind me now, her lips parted, opening slowly as if she were going to say

something she forgotten. Her marble lips closed together, their tempting flair drained away. She was like the color gray, she used

to be black, hard, professional, a siren. Now, she was gray, dull and faded. Her hand came towards my back, I stood my ground.

Before it touched she snapped it back, like I was something godly and unreal. The figure closed its eyes, it looked as if it were

about to faint.

Suddenly, it opened its eyes, to show not my loves dark eyes, but a white empty space. There were no pupils; there were no irises,

just a ghostly, sickly white color. Before I could dart forwards, its mouth opened and let out a horrible screech. High pitched, and

shrill, like nails on a chalkboard. The sound burned my ears as I clasp my hands securely to them, bending over helplessly, squeezing

my eyes shut to stop the pain. It was if the ground was shaking, and the world was spinning at the same time. Then it was over and

the silence filled in the cracks of my ear drums, there was a sick feeling in my stomach and lightness to my head. It was swiftly gone

when I lost the half-conscious state I was in.


End file.
